Pissing on a mirror

I feel the city‘s own fatigue inside my panic-ridden eyes

and fight the useless will to cry

instead, a fruitless  wish to die

So I write poems like a coward

to unhate my very self

I speak a separated voice

in my lonesome latter years

My mispronounced name

To think a thing destroys it

The picture kills the thought

I think my way into decay

This butter-melting kissing mouth

The pet that killed the totem

I unthink, in verse,

the things that I would never dare to say

A stroll through these afternoon streets

I abandon myself in these avenued words

And I write it all down

Before I hit the ground

with lyrical leprosy felt

There is lead in the water

Sulfur in the air

and I’m pissing on a mirror at myself 

Tirelessly I sleep

Under dirty wheeping willows

And the dead are always stronger than the living